


Should Have, Could Have

by Woodentrain



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Mostly book based, Oliver's christmas visit, Pillow Talk, Resolution, Talking, but strongly implied happy ending, ghost spots, possible future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-09-24 07:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17096873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woodentrain/pseuds/Woodentrain
Summary: Oliver kept his promise.  He came back just before Christmas and stayed til New Year's...I looked at him: I want one more kiss.  I should, could, have seized him.A. Aciman, Call Me By Your NameWhat if Elio had, indeed, seized him during that Christmas visit back in 1987?  This picks up right after that bit of the book...





	1. Should Have, Could Have

**Author's Note:**

> People who have followed me for a while might know that I have a lot of feelings about the bit in the book when Oliver goes to visit at Christmas, and the importance of it. Read about it [ here](https://natures-cunning-ways.tumblr.com/post/168478775501/on-olivers-decision%20/) if you’re interested!
> 
> I have been playing around with this since August. Sadly a chunk got lost when I tried to sync back up to Google docs after a flight and, well. It's never been the same since, but I think it's still worth saving, even if there are some bits I just can't get back.  
> The first chapter ends on an angsty note but I promise it gets better! Two more chapters to follow over the next few days.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver returns to B. at Christmas, and tells Elio that he might be getting married. Elio seizes him.

_“I can’t do this,” he said, and sprang away.  “I can,” I replied.  “Yes, but I can’t.”  I must have had iced razor blades in my eyes, for he suddenly realised how angry I was.  “I’d love nothing better than to take your clothes off and at the very least hold you.  But I can’t.”  I put my arms around his head and held it.  “Then maybe you shouldn’t stay.  They know about us.”  “I figured,” he said.  “How?”  “By the way your father spoke.  You’re lucky.  My father would have carted me off to a correctional facility.”  I looked at him: I want one more kiss._

_A. Aciman, Call Me By Your Name_

***

There’s nothing more to be said here. 

But wait- that’s not true.  There’s so much to be said here.  So many things Oliver wants to say.  But there’s nothing to be gained by talking, so it’s for the best if nothing more is said here.  Oliver needs to leave, and he has to do it now. 

But. 

“Wait.”  Elio jumps out of bed.  Fully dressed in the jeans and shirt he was wearing at dinner, although Oliver has no idea why.

There’s no time to wonder about that, because Oliver really should just go.  Now.  One hand is already reaching out to open the door, but Elio has spoken that single word and it holds power over him.  He simply can’t ignore that simple command- so he turns, and Elio is there.  He pushes Oliver back, kissing him hard and fast, before holding him tight against the wall.  “No.  You don’t just get to leave.  To walk away.  Not like this.”

Oliver shakes off Elio’s hand from around his wrist.  “This isn’t easy for me, you know.  Stop making things more difficult than they have to be.”

“ _Please_.  Please, don’t go.  I am asking you to stay.  I am asking you for this.  Please.”  Anger and fear, desperation and determination, all written in equal measure on his face. 

Oliver’s voice softens.  He wants to reach down and stroke Elio’s cheek, but he doesn’t.  Daren’t.  “Elio, I told you I can’t.  That I didn’t want to do anything tonight.  Why are you doing this?  You know nothing good can come of it.”

Determination flares again.  Elio’s voice is steady, so much steadier than Oliver feels right now.  “I’m doing this because I can see myself, twenty years down the line, looking back at this moment and thinking that this was when I should have, could have, seized you.  I can see myself with nothing but half a lifetime of regrets, and that’s not what I want my life to be like.  So I’m telling you what I want.  Because you’re going to leave again soon and perhaps we’ll never meet again,” his voice starts to crack, “so I have nothing, _nothing_ left to lose right now.  Please.”

“I can’t, Elio.  I just can’t.”

“No.   _No_.  You don’t get to do this.  You don’t get to just walk away from me again.  You don’t get to do this without looking me in the eye and telling me you don’t want this.  That none of it matters.”

Oliver closes his eyes and puts a hand over his face in exasperation, rubbing at his eyes.  He’s barely slept all week and god, is he tired.  Way too tired to do this.  “Elio. I don’t. I can’t.  It...”  Oliver falters.

“Look at me when you say it and I might believe you.  Make me believe you.” 

“I can’t.” 

“Can’t do this?  Or can’t look at me and say you don’t want this?”  

Elio’s shaking.  Or maybe shivering- the room is chilly after all.  Either way, Oliver wants to grab him and hold him tight until it stops.  It’s yet another thing he can’t do.  “Elio.  Please.  Please don’t.  You know why I can’t.”

“And _you_ know why I have to hear you say it.  Look at me.”  Elio grabs his wrist roughly and moves Oliver’s hand away from his face.  Oliver opens his eyes and meets Elio’s gaze, burning through him with hurt and anger.

Elio’s voice is steel.  “Tell me you don’t want this.”

“Elio, I never said I didn’t want this.  I said I can’t do this.  It’s not the same thing.”

“You can’t do this because she means more to you than me?”  Steel, laced with ice.

“No!  No, I-“

Elio rolls his eyes and shakes his head before looking at Oliver with renewed resolve.  “Tell me you didn’t love me.”

Oliver doesn’t speak, doesn’t move except to clench his teeth against the words and emotion that threaten to spill out of his traitorous mouth.

Elio forces Oliver to meet his eyes again.  “Tell me you don’t still love me.”  

Silence.

There’s triumph in Elio’s voice as he grasps Oliver’s chin firmly to stop him from looking away, and says the word he knows will be make-or-break.  “Elio.  _Elio_.  Look at me.  Tell me that none of this matters to you.  Tell me you never loved me, that you’re not still in love with me.”

Oliver can’t say those things.  Maybe he could bring himself to write them in a letter, maybe he should have written a letter saying those very things, but he can’t look Elio in the eye and lie to him.  

Even if he could bring himself to lie, he knows Elio, this Elio standing in front of him right now, would see right through him anyway and not be afraid to call him out on his bullshit.

Because this Elio, here and now, is beautiful, and determined, and has just flayed himself raw for Oliver.  Everything bared, all of his cards laid on the table- he has made himself utterly vulnerable for a person who has just told him he’s marrying someone else.  A person who is too cowardly to look him in the eye and tell him the truth he so deserves. 

Oliver has never been prouder of him. 

Nobody has ever made Oliver feel so small and spineless as he does right now.

Elio traces his thumb along Oliver’s bottom lip and speaks softly and slowly.  “Say. It. Say it, _Elio_.”  It’s both a challenge and a plea.   _Can you say those things?  Can you lie to me?  Please make me believe it._

_Let me let you go._

Oliver _can’t_.  He can’t say it, and he can’t stop what’s about to happen, as he moves his head to close the gap between their faces and whispers _I’m sorry_.  He just has time to register Elio’s combined shock and satisfaction and fear before his eyes drift closed instinctively and his lips meet Elio’s once more.

The restraint from the kiss they shared on the bed is gone.  Oliver lets himself drown in the taste of Elio.  It's too much and it's too fast but Oliver feels himself falling deeper and deeper and he's powerless to stop it.  

Elio pulls away from the kiss and takes half a step back to study Oliver's face.  Oliver’s arms are hanging limp by his sides and he focuses on steadying his breathing.  Elio wraps his fingers around Oliver's and moves their hands to his own waist.  He's still panting.  Slowly, so slowly, he slides their hands around to the front of his jeans, and holds Oliver's fingers under his own as he fumbles with the top button.  

They look at one another.  Breathe.  Elio’s eyes still don’t leave Oliver’s, as his hands gently let Oliver’s go, leaving them right there, resting on the front of his waistband, over the top button just undone.  Elio’s hands fall away, and Oliver knows what he has to do.  Should do.  In his head he sees it happen- he lets his hands fall away, takes a step back, and shakes his head slowly.  He walks out of the door and doesn’t look back.

But he doesn't.  His fingers, refusing to conform to what he knows he should do, flick open another button as Elio shivers and inhales, sharp and loud.

And another.

***

As he lets Elio’s jeans fall to the floor, Oliver knows a line has been crossed, and it's fear about what this means, not desire, that makes his knees weak and leaves him sitting on the edge of Elio's bed with his hands braced on his thighs.  Elio doesn't seem to be taking this as an invitation, because he's hesitant when he moves toward Oliver, using his own knee to nudge Oliver’s apart.  He shuffles a little closer, but still keeps a sort-of distance between them as he runs his fingers through Oliver's hair, gently, reverently.  Oliver bites back a moan, because having his hair played with like this does things to him.  And not only that- but this is Elio.  _Finally_.

"Fuck.  I missed this,” Elio says as he lets the strands fall through his fingers.

“Elio, I-”

Elio’s voice is quiet and gentle, a caress to mirror his fingers.  “Shush.  Unless you want me to stop?”  Elio doesn't stop, but his fingers slow, trailing down to the nape of his neck.  Oliver shudders, and moves his hands around Elio’s waist.

“No.  Don’t stop.  _Please_.”

Another line crossed.

***

“Tell me you want this.  Not whether you can or can’t, just- that you want to do this.”

Elio takes a half-step back and pulls his t-shirt up and over his head and off, not looking where he throws it, somewhere off to the side.

Oliver plants his hands on the bed to lean back to look, because he can’t _not_ look, but he says nothing.  He considers it to be a moment of great personal triumph that he manages to remain silent, to be good, when something in him is screaming to _speak, speak, speak_.  He takes another deep breath.

Elio moves forward and sits now, straddling him but still holding their bodies carefully apart.  Hands braced on Oliver's shoulders.  He presses his forehead to Oliver's.  "Tell me you want this.  Tell me, or I'll stop.”

A hand reaches between them and down and Oliver jumps at the unexpected contact.  Hisses a breath in between his teeth.  He expects to see a smirk on Elio's face, because Elio clearly expected him to be hard and he’s not wrong- but there's no hint of one.  "I know you want this here.  Because of course you do."  A slight squeeze, followed by Elio’s hand trailing, lighter, up and then back down.  Then it's gone, abruptly, and Oliver's left trying not to wriggle closer for more.  A quiet moan escapes.

And there it is- the smirk, just for a moment.  But as soon as it's there, it's gone again, replaced by something serious and tender.

"But I need to know you want it here," Elio's hand cradles the side of Oliver's head as he looks into his eyes, searching, "and here."  The hand falls back down toward Oliver's waist but instead of continuing lower again it slips beneath Oliver's shirt, settles over his chest and presses gently over his heart.  It feels as though the air is being squeezed out of his lungs, because suddenly there's no oxygen, and he can't breathe, and he doesn't want to, because if it should all end right here and now then perhaps that wouldn't be a bad thing.

Echoes, echoes everywhere.

But he must be breathing, because although he doesn't remember deciding to say it, he hears himself say _yes._ Elio falls into his lap now, all distance gone, though he still hesitates, mumbling against Oliver’s lips.  “Say it.”

So Oliver does. _I want this.  Of course I want this.  You._  

One grind of his hips and Oliver knows how far this is going to go.  Surrenders to what he knew was inevitable from the moment he hesitated at the door.  Or perhaps even further back- from the moment he entered the room, the moment he boarded the plane, the moment he first saw Elio, six months ago.  Inevitable since forever ago.  Always, always, always.

“Elio- before we- listen.  If we do this, you have to know that this is all there is for us.  This, right now, is all I have.  I can’t promise you anything more.”

Elio doesn’t hesitate.  “Okay.”

“You’re sure?”

Elio nods.  “I’m sure.”

Elio rolls them both over, and presses Oliver’s head back into the pillows as he kisses him again.

***

Time passes.  Most likely minutes, though it could be seconds or even hours.  Haze.  Clothes gone, hands and mouths and bodies warm despite the chill of the room.  The goosebumps on Elio’s skin have nothing to do with the temperature.  Oliver’s last shred of common sense rears its head and tells him to roll to the edge of the bed where he reaches to the floor, fumbling to find his pants among the discarded clothing.

"Oliver?  What's wrong?"  Elio gasps, splayed out on the bed.

"Just looking for my wallet.  I'm sure I have a condom in there, somewhere.”

Elio, dazed and lost just moments ago, looks up at him, suddenly wide-eyed and alert.  Then his expression turns dark.  "Oh.  So we're using condoms now?"

Oliver stops his searching and sighs.  "Elio.  We should have always used them.  We both should've known better."

"But we didn't.  So what's changed now?"

Oliver just looks at him.

"Oh, I get it.”  Elio drawls, lazily, as though what he’s saying is so obvious it’s scarcely worth the effort of forming the words.  “Because that's an awkward conversation to have with your fiancée.  I suppose she's on the pill?  So you don't use them with her."

"Elio, I’m not- it’s not about… look, you know we should have."

"But we didn't.  You trusted me and I trusted you and that was enough.  But now you're not so sure.  Maybe now you're worried about me passing something to your girlfriend?  Because you know, better than anyone else, that I like boys.  Or maybe it’s you, you’ve been…?”  A touch of concern shines through tiny cracks in Elio’s righteous anger. 

“No, I’m fine.  I haven’t.  But this isn’t about that, anyway.  It’s just that we should-“

Elio cuts in.  “I haven’t been with anyone else since then.”

Oliver narrows his eyes.  “You… haven’t?  Why not?” 

Elio swallows and looks at him, unwavering in his resolve.  _Nothing left to lose_.  “Of course I haven’t been with anyone else.  Why would I?  I- I _thought_ I was with _you_.  That we were-“ 

Then he laughs, just a bark of a laugh, bitter and angry.  “I don’t know.  That we were something.  I don’t know what.  You must think I’m so, so stupid.  It’s not like we ever said anything.  Called it anything.  Not in so many words.”

Elio has been faithful to Oliver for the past four months.  Faithful, without any assurances of… well, no assurances of anything, really.  Faithful, while Oliver has been rekindling his relationship with his girlfriend, soon-to-be fiancée, soon-to-be wife.  Oliver is appalled with himself.  “Elio, I-“

Elio interrupts.  “But we never said it wasn’t.  And, you know, there were the letters.  You wrote me the most beautiful letters.  And when we talked, it was like… and- and it’s not like you ever mentioned your fiancée.”  It hurts to see him explaining, justifying himself, as though he doesn’t think these were reasonable things to think.  Of course these were reasonable assumptions for Elio to have made.  Ones Oliver would have made, too, had their positions been reversed.

Elio trying to defend his own perceived stupidity somehow makes Oliver feel worse than his confession of faithfulness did.  Oliver has made him feel stupid, because this is Oliver’s fault.  If Oliver is honest with himself, he knew that Elio thought these things, all along.  Encouraged him to think them, even.  Was not brave enough to initiate the conversation they needed to have in order to disabuse him of that notion.

All because of his own selfishness.  And, mostly, because Oliver wanted to pretend that it was all true, for just a little longer.  That they were still _something_.

“She’s not my fiancée.”  _Not yet._

Elio rolls his eyes but says nothing. 

“Look- I know, Elio.  _I know_.  You don’t have to justify yourself, because of course you did.  I don’t think you’re stupid.  I’m sorry.  It’s my fault.  We should have talked about it.  But-“

“Well, we’re not going to talk about it now.  Let’s just- if you can’t find one, don’t worry.  I-“

Oliver interrupts.  "Elio.  I can't- look, this isn’t negotiable.  Do you have any?  I don’t- I didn’t exactly expect-"

Elio sighs.  “No, I guess you didn’t.  Why you came here at all this week is a mystery to me.”  Oliver opens his mouth to speak but Elio shoots him down before he has a chance.  “But I don’t want to talk.  I was just about to say- when you interrupted me- I have condoms.  In the top drawer of my desk.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this, Elio.  Not like this.”

“How, then?  When?  _Later_?  There’s no later for us, not any more.  Please.  I want this.”

Against his better judgement, Oliver nods.  “You’re sure?”

The question has hardly passed his lips when Elio answers by pulling him back onto the bed and yanking his hair down to bring him close enough to kiss. 

Elio’s mouth is messy and frantic and delicious, and Oliver thinks he could keep doing this forever.  Elio just pauses long enough to ask, “How do you…?  What do you want?”

Oliver doesn’t hesitate.  The words are out of his mouth before Elio even finishes his question.

“You.  _You_.  Inside me.  Please?” 

A nod.  No more waiting.  Just _yes_ , and you, and bliss.

Not later, but _now, now, now_. 

***

Oliver doesn’t expect the panic that sets in afterward.  None of this was supposed to happen.  He wanted it so badly, but that doesn’t mean it was the right thing to do.  It doesn’t mean that it’s okay to lie here with Elio’s face next to his and their limbs tangled beneath the sheets, exchanging lazy kisses.  It definitely doesn’t mean that it’s okay for Oliver to feel so happy, here and now, just being like this.  

Because none of this is going to change anything, and Oliver wishes he could turn back time and say the _no_ he didn’t mean instead of the truthful _yes_ he wanted so much.  Oliver is good at lying to himself, and with good reason- because honesty has never done him much good.

Like now.  Despite his happiness, he can’t imagine a worse feeling than the one he has right now, the feeling of knowing that he has to go, and go _now_ , because the thought of leaving is already painful enough and it’s only going to get worse the longer he keeps putting it off.  Surely nothing can be worse than happiness which you know you’re about to lose?

This wasn’t supposed to happen.  Sex is one thing, but the intimacy that he knows he’ll find if he stays much longer is another.  Much more frightening.

So he pulls himself out of Elio’s embrace and starts to gather up his clothes, wriggling into his boxers as he looks around for the rest.

“What are you doing?  Where are you going?”

“I have to go.  We shouldn’t have done this.”

“You don’t have to go.  Stay.  Please.”  Elio grabs his wrist.

Oliver twists his hand away.  “Stop this, Elio.  I do have to go.  I told you that this was all I was offering.  You said you understood.  So just- let me go.  Leave me alone.”

“What?”  Elio sits up quickly.

Oliver’s angry with himself, for causing the stricken look of confusion on Elio’s face, and he shouldn’t be taking it out on him but he can’t help it.

“Are you happy now, Elio?  Feel better?  Was this what you wanted?”

 “Is it what _you_ wanted?  Because don’t pretend you didn’t.  You said as much.”  Elio is angry again, which is understandable.  “I suppose you wanted me to fuck you because you can’t get that at home?  Or do you sleep with other boys on the side, and then go home to her?  Is that what it’s like?  That’d explain your sudden thing for condoms-”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want this, it’s just complicated.  Something you clearly cannot understand.  Sometimes I think you have no concept of real life, no idea how things work in the real world.”

Elio ignores his barbs.  “Why did you come here, Oliver?  Why did you come back?  You didn’t want to talk to me, you didn’t want to spend time with me.  You’re not stupid- you must have known I thought we were-“

“I came here to see you.  Of course I did.”

“I’m your last fling before you get married?”

Oliver ignores that.  He can’t bear for this argument to go on any longer.  He’s finished gathering up his clothes, so he’s done here.

Finally- a parting shot as he pauses, before opening the door to leave.  He turns to look at Elio for what might be the last time.  This is not how he wanted to say these words, but they’ve been clawing their way through his skin ever since Elio mentioned it earlier.  "Of course I loved you.  Of course I still love you.  But sometimes that's just not enough.  I'm sorry."

He doesn't look back as he leaves the room and closes the door behind him.  When his back falls against it and he slumps to the floor he's not sure whether it's an attempt to stop Elio from following or to stop himself from going back.  

He doesn't know what it is that hits the door, but he feels the thud and hears a smash.  

He forces himself to sit and listen as Elio breaks into sobs, loud and strangled and broken, not even trying to hide.  Forces himself to listen every time he almost stops, every time he starts to cry again more bitterly than ever.  Forces himself to listen to Elio's anguish and think, _I did this._  Forces himself to listen as Samuel knocks on Elio's door from the hallway outside and asks what's wrong, only to be told to leave him alone.  Until, eventually, Samuel knocks on Oliver’s door.

“Oliver?  Can I come in?  Elio’s door is locked.”

“Oh.  Yes, of course.”

Samuel looks at him as he enters the room and gives a thin smile.  “I’m sorry to disturb you, Oliver.  But he’s locked the main door, and… well.  Anyway.  This one,” he points to the door between their bedrooms, “doesn’t have a lock.”

“Go ahead.”

“Elio,” he calls through the door, “I’m coming in to talk to you.  I’ll give you a minute to put some clothes on if you want to.”

Oliver winces as Samuel confirms that Elio’s parents know exactly what they’ve been doing tonight, but Samuel just turns to him and smiles again.

Oliver looks guiltily down at his feet as he says, “I think I should probably leave.  As soon as possible.  I think Elio will want me to go.”

Samuel is almost breezy as he says, “Well, you can’t go now. It’s the middle of the night.  And besides- you need to get some sleep.  Things always look different after a good night’s sleep.”

Oliver thinks that Samuel is, for once, wrong.  On both counts.  Not only is it unlikely that he’s going to get anything resembling a good night’s sleep, it’s also unlikely that things will look much better in the morning.  But he nods politely- at least, as politely as he can be given the somewhat unorthodox circumstances- and keeps those thoughts to himself.

Samuel opens Elio’s door softly and enters Elio’s room, stepping around the shards of broken glass on the floor.  Oliver catches a glimpse of him, curled up on the bed with his face buried in a pillow, before the door closes. 

He listens to the sound of Samuel speaking softly, although he can’t hear what’s being said.  Oliver lies in bed and lets himself drift in the space between waking and sleeping, until eventually the sobs from the room next door turn to hiccups and then to nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They got angry and bitter. Sorry. Things will work out though.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [natures-cunning-ways](https://natures-cunning-ways.tumblr.com/).  
> 


	2. Grow up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elio is gone in the morning, but Oliver knows where to find him.

The next day dawns grey and damp.  Having not expected to sleep at all, Oliver is surprised to find that it’s mid-morning when he wakes up.  Not only that, but he feels surprisingly refreshed.  Yet another thing to feel guilty about- to have slept like an innocent after everything that happened last night.

There’s no sound from the adjoining rooms, so Oliver ventures into the bathroom.  No evidence of Elio having been here yet this morning.  Oliver takes a long shower, letting the steam fog the room, hanging in the air while he tries to process what happened last night and, more importantly now, what happens next?

No amount of showering is going to help him to answer that question, so eventually Oliver turns off the water with a sigh, dresses and goes downstairs.

***

Elio had, according to Mafalda, been gone for some time.  Since breakfast, in fact- and her tutting makes it clear that breakfast is long over and that she doesn’t approve of people sleeping in for most of the morning. 

But it didn’t take Oliver long to find him.  He agonised for a while over whether he should search for him or leave him be, and eventually decided that he should go look, at least- the worst that could happen is that Elio could tell him to go away.

So Oliver borrowed Anchise’s bike and set out.  Elio’s spot.  Oliver never doubted that he’d find Elio here.  And sure enough, there he is.  Sitting on the ground with his knees pulled up to his chest and his chin resting on his knees.  Oliver doesn’t want Elio to think he’s crept up on him, so he drops his bike down on the ground noisily enough to announce his presence.

Elio doesn’t move.  Oliver walks over and stands by him.  Puts his hands in his pockets and just waits for a moment to collect his thought before speaking.

“You have no idea how often I think of this place.  How much I’ve missed it.  How many times I’ve thought about it, when I was back home.  Sometimes I think I can feel the sun, and smell the grass, and hear the sea.  Which is stupid, because you can’t really hear the sea from here anyway.  But I do, in my head.  It’s nice to be back.  It’s a shame Monet never came back to paint it in the winter.  It’s still beautiful.”

Elio doesn’t respond, so Oliver tries a direct question.  “Have you been here long?”

“A while, I guess.”

“Aren’t you cold?”  It’s not cold in the same way that New York gets cold, but it’s cool today, and with the breeze off the sea it’s surely too chilly to want to sit outside for long.  Elio has a thick jumper on, and a light jacket, but no winter coat.

“I’m fine.”

Oliver smiles, despite knowing that Elio isn’t looking at him, and tries to lighten the mood.  “Surely your butt must be cold, at least.  Sitting there on the ground.”

“I came prepared.  I come here a lot, even in the winter.”  Elio leans to one side, revealing that he’s sitting on a blanket, folded small and into many layers.

Oliver crouches down next to him.  He looks ahead at the view, at the sea beyond the trees, instead of at Elio.  As though he’s a skittish animal who will fight or flee if Oliver makes eye contact.  “Mind if I join you?”

“Just here, generally?  Or you want to share the blanket?”

“If you’re offering.”

“Okay.”

Elio unfolds some of the layers of the blanket to make it slightly bigger, and sits back down.  Oliver flops down next to him, keeping a careful distance between them.

“So.  I…. um… I wanted to talk to you.”  Oliver waits, but Elio doesn’t respond.  Waits a little longer.  And when he can’t wait any more- “Elio?”

Elio just stares ahead at the trees and, in the distance, the sea.  His face is blank and unreadable, and his voice is flat as he says, “You can talk to me.  Just… don’t expect me to talk back.  I don’t know if I have anything left to say.”

“That’s okay.  I’m happy if you just listen.  Besides, I- I don’t know what to say either.  I know you think I’m good at this sort of thing, that I always know the right things to say, that I’m- confident and cool and calm.  But I’m not.  I have no idea what to say to you right now.  I have no idea where to start.  I want to make things right but I don’t think I can.

“Last night was… it… I’m sorry.  I wanted to say I’m sorry.  I was an asshole.  A huge, _huge_ idiot.  The worst.  I didn’t mean it when I said you had no idea about the real world.  You’re way more grown-up than me.  You’re smarter, and braver, and- and just _better_.  I was upset, and scared, and… and angry with you, for trying to push me back into feeling all of these things that I don’t want to feel.  Because I do.  Feel things I don’t want to.  I- I meant it when I said I loved you.  I sort of figured you already knew that, but…”

Elio shrugs.

“Anyway.  I wish I didn’t love you, because it’s… it’s the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me, and it hurts so much to know that I can’t have it.  Can’t keep it, at least.”  Oliver leans back and looks up at the grey sky and the bare branches.  “I shouldn’t have come back to Italy, really.  It was selfish of me.  But I wanted to see you again.  So badly, Elio.  I have missed you- every day.  And I told myself I would come here for my book, but there was no real need for me to be here for that.  Really I came to see you.”

Oliver expected this conversation to be difficult, but delivering a monologue about how he feels is strangely easy.  Therapeutic, even. 

Elio still doesn’t respond, but Oliver knows that he’s still listening.

“But that was selfish, because I don’t have any right to see you, when- well, you know.  And the worst thing is that I made you feel stupid, because I took advantage of the fact that there was a thing I wanted to be true, I wanted us being _us_ to be true, and you thought that we were, so I just… let it carry on.

“I wasn’t brave enough to end it.  I know we never said what ‘it’ was, but it _was_ something, and we should have talked about that.  And I suppose on one level I thought you knew, we both knew, that when I left Italy that would be the end.  But you’re right- the letters, and the phone calls- shit.  I’ve made such a mess of things.  But I did it because I wanted it to be true, Elio.  So badly.  And it was easy to pretend over the phone, or on a piece of paper, and then go back to my everyday life.  Because as long as you thought we still had something, and you acted like we did, then in my head I could still have this- this _thing_ , this beautiful, wonderful thing that made me so happy.  Every time I spoke to you.  Every time I got one of your letters.  And I knew I couldn’t have it, not really, but I couldn’t bring myself to end it.  You know that story you talked about in the summer?  _To speak or to die_?  Have you ever felt like you die either way?  Whether you speak or not, there’s no good option?  Because that’s how I feel.  Felt.  As though… whatever I did, I came out losing.”

Still no response from Elio. 

“I’m so sorry, Elio.  I’m not going to ask you to forgive me, because- well.  There’s no way I can make this up to you, but- I’m sorry.  Sorrier than I’ve ever been for anything in my life.”  He reaches out, tentative, to put a hand in Elio’s hair.  He doesn’t lean into it, but nor does he pull away.

There’s stillness, and quiet.  Minutes go by, both of them saying nothing.  Eventually Elio moves.  He shuffles a little closer, so they’re just touching.  Side-by-side.  He drops his head onto Oliver’s shoulder.  “You’re sure you’re not cold?  You feel freezing.  You want my coat?”

“M’okay,” he mumbles. 

Oliver slips his coat off anyway and wraps it around both of their shoulders as best he can.

Finally, Elio speaks.  “Everything you said was true, though. I don’t understand how things work in the real world.  I know I’m a- a spoiled rich kid, an only child.  I don’t get on well with people, and I like to be alone.  People have called me a genius or a prodigy and I’m not sure if either of those things are true, but regardless- you remember when I told you I don’t know about the things that matter?”

Oliver can’t help but smile.  As if he could ever forget.

“Yeah.  I remember that.”  He tousles Elio’s curls gently.

“It was true.  I don’t.  I just know I don’t- didn’t- want to let this go.  But I get that things are different now.  Even if it wasn’t for your…”  Elio inhales deeply then puffs out a breath.  “I want to say something coy, like _your circumstances_ or _your plans_ , but what I mean is _your girlfriend_ , so I’m just going to say that.  Even if it wasn’t for your girlfriend, I know that things can’t be the same now.  That there was something special about last summer, and I know there’s no going back to that.  I wish there was, though.”

“Me too.  You know, you frightened me.  Last night.  Just like you did back then.  Frightened me with how honest you were.  How do you do that?  I never dreamed you would- you’ve got some guts, I’ll say that.”

“I sort of think I must be too stupid to know any better.  In the real world people don’t say things like that.”

“Well, they should.  Don’t put yourself down.” 

“Okay.  Well, here’s another bit of honesty for you.  You asked me if I minded, and I said you were bring silly.  But I do mind.  I mind so much, Oliver.  But you know what’s really weird?  When you first said you were getting married, I was happy for you.  Really, genuinely happy.  Isn’t that strange?”

“I don’t know.  Is it?  If you told me something that meant you were happy, I’d be happy for you.  It doesn’t seem so odd when you think of it like that.”

“Even if it was something that meant the end of you and me?”

Oliver sighs heavily.  “Yes.  Of course- I mean, that aspect would definitely make me sad.  But there’s so much more to _us_ that the things that end with one of us getting married, Elio.  We were friends first.  The sex was just the icing on what was, already, a really nice cake.”  He nudges Elio playfully.  “Not all cakes even need icing, you know.”

“I don’t want to be a cake, and I don’t like the use of this analogy, but I’m willing to go along with it.  So- you’re not worried that the cake might be a bit dry without it?”

“Not if it’s a good cake to start with it wouldn’t.  And we both know that we had, that we still have, something that’s really good.  Even without the icing on top.”

“True.”  Elio suddenly has a wicked glint in his eyes.  “Maybe the cake had icing, but someone licked it all off.  Maybe it’s one of those cakes that has something sticky drizzled on it instead of icing.  Maybe it’s best served with cream instead.  Maybe-“

He stops abruptly as Oliver jabs him with an elbow.  “Stop it with your ridiculous innuendoes.  You’re terrible.”

Elio is the picture of innocence.  “Moi?  Surely not.  I have no idea what you’re talking about.  It’s not my fault if you twist everything I say and-” 

He never gets to finish because Oliver grabs him and tickles him until he pleads for mercy. 

When Oliver releases him, they settle side-by-side once more.

Elio nods wistfully, picking up the conversation from before it turned absurd.  “I know what you mean, really.  Because you know what I miss most of all?  This.  Just this.  Being like we are now.  I mean- the sex was great.  And fun, and- I mean, I don’t have any other boys to compare it to but it seemed pretty amazing to me.  But there were all those other times, before we did anything like that, before we even knew.  Those days, early on, when we used to sit and talk about _everything_.  I miss those days.  I miss going to bed with you, of course I do.  But some of the best times happened long before we ever did all that.  I miss knowing you.  I miss your company.  Your friendship.  Sometimes I think it would have been easier if the whole thing had stayed platonic.  You could have been a friend who I had a huge, unrequited crush on.  At least- I would have thought it was unrequited, and you would never have said anything, so neither of us would ever have known.  Then we could have talked and written to each other and it would have been like nothing ever changed.  Nothing would have changed.  Friendship, nice and simple.  That’s what I miss the most.”

“Me too.”  He reaches for Elio’s hand and laces their fingers together, and they sit and watch as a break in the clouds sends a pale beam of sunlight down to shimmer on the distant sea.

***

As they get ready to go back to the house, Oliver remembers something.  He reaches into the pocket of his coat.  "I got you something. A Christmas present, I suppose." He puts the wrapped box on the ground in front of Elio.

"You know that's a really strange thing for one Jewish person to do for another, right?"

Oliver rolls his eyes.  "Fine.  Let me rephrase that.  I got something for you.  Christmas was just an excuse."

Elio huffs. "Oh. Well, in that case, thanks."

He picks it up, turns it over in his hands before opening it.

It's a box, from a jewellers.  Inside, a slender silver chain.

"You said that the other chain you used to wear, back in the summer, broke.  So I thought maybe- um-" Oliver cringes at his own awkwardness.  "Never mind. It's probably stupid."

Elio gives him a look that Oliver can’t quite work out.  “No, it's not.  I can’t believe you remembered me telling you about that."  Instead of putting the chain on, he leaves it in its box as he fumbles behind his neck and unclasps the chain he still wears. The one with the Star of David on it.  The star easily slips off the end and he threads it carefully onto the new chain and holds it out to Oliver before turning his back to him.  Oliver brushes the curls aside from the nape of his neck and fastens the chain.

"Well, I have something for you too. Back at home, though.  You'll have to wait. But, I... if you want, you can..."

He holds his hand flat out towards Oliver.  Pooled on his palm is the chain which, until a moment ago, had held the symbol of their shared faith. Oliver nods so Elio reaches around and fastens it around his neck before nodding back.  Satisfied.  "Okay. Good.”  Oliver starts to stand, but Elio grabs his wrist.  “One last thing.”

“What?”

Elio’s voice is breathy and nervous, but resolute.  “Spend the night with me.  Tonight.”

“Elio.  You know I want to, but… you know I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Another nod.

“Last night.  I said it was just sex, you said you understood, but then afterwards…”

“I know.  I did understand, but I thought that it would be okay anyway.  That if that was what you were offering, it was better than nothing.  One last time.  And I also thought you might not mean it.  And even if you say no to tonight, I don't regret what we did yesterday.  But tonight, so we’re clear, when I say _spend the night_ I mean I want you to stay for the night.”

There are several things Oliver wants to say.  _I want to go to sleep with you, and wake up with you_.  And _if it’s the last time we ever do this, then at least we both knew_.  And _remember, tomorrow I have to go_.

But tomorrow isn’t today, and today there’s no need to think about all of that.  So he settles for one simple word.

 _Yes_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It became 4 chapters. I don't know how that happened. (I still think chapters 2 and 3 should probably have stayed as one long chapter but alas, 'twas not to be.)  
> I hope to post the last two chapter (and it will definitely just be two more) on Sunday and Tuesday.  
> You can find me on tumblr at [natures-cunning-ways](https://natures-cunning-ways.tumblr.com/).  
> 


	3. I'll See You at Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have loved you for the last time...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I said I'd post this days ago. But it kept getting longer, and... well. It has got so long that I couldn't even face doing a final read through for typos etc, so apologies for that. I have got behind with comments, too, but thank you so much to everyone who's commented, and I will respond soon!

A late lunch when they get back to the house.  And after that?  What Oliver really wants is to go to bed.  To stay there all day, all night, all morning, until he has to leave tomorrow evening.  Not even doing anything- well, not necessarily- but just to strip Elio naked and hold him, and look at him, and watch him breathe while he sleeps.  But of course things are seldom as simple as that.  “I promised Vimini I’d go see her.  Spend my last afternoon there.  But if you want, I’ll tell her I can’t stay for long.”

“No.  Go.  I’m not the only person here who loves you.  I get to have you for the whole of tonight.  Unless…” Elio suddenly looks nervous, “Unless you’ve changed your mind?”

Oliver grabs him by his head and pulls him close, tugging at his hair as he kisses him hard, mindless of the fact that they’re standing in the middle of the hallway where anyone might walk by.  He can hear Mafalda clanging around in the kitchen, and Samuel humming as he works in his study.  He stops but doesn’t pull away, and his voice is rough as he says, “No.  _No_.  I haven’t changed my mind.  I’m all yours for tonight.  I promise.  Though-” he isn’t sure if Elio is going to be pleased about this- “we have some more talking to do first.”

Elio simply raises his eyebrows in question.

“Because we didn’t in the summer.  I said we should’ve talked, and I was right.  I’m not often right, but I was right about that.  And we didn’t really talk last night, either, and- and I think there are still things that need to be said.”

Elio leans in close, on his tiptoes, and whispers in Oliver’s ear.  “Okay.  But I want to have sex twice.  At least.  Once because I love you, and once just for fun.”

Then he turns sharply and walks away, leaving Oliver standing alone at the bottom of the stairs.

***

They don’t hurry to bed, because there’s no need.  As Elio said, he isn’t the only person here who cares about Oliver, and they both sit with Elio’s parents and their guests after dinner ends, talking long into the night.  They sit side-by-side on the sofa with their thighs pressed close, and curl their toes together under the coffee table as Samuel pours grappa and Annella lights another cigarette.

Oliver wears a shirt.  Light blue.  Loose and billowy.  Elio had thrust the bag into Oliver's hands earlier in the afternoon.  "I don’t know if you’ll like this, but I got you something to replace the one I kept.  Because it looked good on you, and you wore it when I first met you, and I didn’t like the thought of you not having it.  I don’t know if it’ll fit, I mean, I- I didn’t have your measurements, but I took your shirt to a tailor when I was in Milan and sort of explained to him how it fit on you and he said he could work from that.”  Elio talks too fact when he’s nervous, and he’s clearly nervous now.

This shirt is clearly much more expensive than anything Oliver would have bought for himself.  He is a man who doesn’t really pay much attention to clothes.  He doesn’t have to, because he looks good in everything, great in most things, and would rather sit at home and read than go shopping for shirts.  But he can appreciate the quality of this.  The feel of the fabric, the weight and the way it drapes- all exquisite.  And the fit is surprisingly good, given that it wasn’t quite made-to-measure. 

He doesn’t really care about those things, though.  What matters is that Elio thought of this, that he went out and went to the trouble of getting this made for him, that he wanted Oliver to have it. 

“Thank you.  So much.”  Then, in a whisper, “Will you wear it to bed tonight?  So that it’ll smell of you?”

“Of course.  But only if you wear mine.”

And they will, but it’s not quite time for that yet.

As the evening wears on, Oliver is shocked to realise that Elio has grown up.  He’s been quiet all week (miserable, Oliver reminds himself.  Because of him), but tonight he’s relaxed and content, and he speaks more slowly, with more ease and more assurance then he did back in the summer.  Like someone who knows that what he says is worth listening to.  And what’s more- someone who expects other people to listen to him and take him seriously.  Yet another thing that makes Oliver feel proud of him.  Wishes he could keep him, could be there to see him in a month, a year, ten years.  Will he even recognise Elio then?

It’s quiet in the bedroom.  Oliver can’t help but remember another night here, just a few months ago.  When neither of them knew quite how to start the process of intimacy.  Tonight they sit, side-by-side on the bed once more, unsure about how to start this conversation.

Until Elio says, “You’re the one who said we should talk.  So you’re going to have to say what you want to talk about, Oliver.”  Elio is not wondering how to start this conversation- he’s waiting for Oliver to start it for them both.  Which is fair.  The problem is that Oliver doesn’t know what to say.

“Okay.  So.  I want us both to know where we stand.  I thought I already knew where I stood until yesterday, and now I’m not so sure.”

Elio says nothing.

Oliver nudges Elio and half-smiles. “Elio?  You know that thing you did last night, where you just came out and said everything you wanted?  It would be really helpful if you could do that again right now.”

“It’s not your turn?”

“Probably is, but I’m terrible at things like this.”

“Fine.  I want to be with you, whatever that means.  I want to go back to last summer, and for it to go on forever.  I want us, here, always.  I don’t want to have to worry about real life- school, or what other people think, or- or, I don’t know, who’s going to cook dinner or pay the electricity bill, or whatever else it is that real couples have to think about.  And- and I’m not saying that I’m not willing to deal with all those things, just that- well, you asked me to tell you everything I wanted.  So there you go.”

Oliver nods.  “I did.  Thank you.  But you know we-“

“Don’t say ‘you know we can’t’ as though I don’t understand that.  I _do_ understand that.  But given that the world isn’t perfect… I’m not sure what I want.  At least- I’m not sure what I want from the things I can actually have.”

“So tell me some other things you want from life?  The things that aren’t to do with me.”

“I- I don’t know, really.  I have to finish high school.  I want to go to college, but I don’t even know which continent I want to go to.  I could stay here, or go somewhere else in Europe, or go to the States.  And I have no idea what I want to study there.”  He looks at Oliver sideways and nudges him with his shoulder.  “Not the same as you and my dad, that’s for sure.”

Oliver puts on the most aghast expression he can muster.  “You wound me with your cruel words.  I’ll have you know that my field of study is fascinating.  You should read my book.”

Elio pokes him now, with an elbow.  “I’ve read your book.  Of course I have.  In three different languages.  The French translation is beautifully done, by the way.  I enjoyed it, and I do find those things interesting, but I don’t want to study them.  Besides- I think between you and my dad, you’ve got it covered.”

“So what then?  Music, maybe?”

“Maybe.  But it’s a hard way to make a living, and yeah, I’m good, but I don’t know if I’m good enough to study it at that level.  Sometimes I’m not sure I love it enough to put that sort of work in.  So…” he shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“What else do you want?”

“Um.  I don’t know.  I’m not even eighteen yet.  Thinking about these sorts of things makes me feel really young.  I have time to decide what I want in life, don’t I?  Can I say that I know I want you?   Or are you going to say that if I don’t even know where I want to go to college, then I’m too young to know that? ”

“Yes, you can say that.  I want to be with you, too.  Whatever that means.  But…”  Oliver doesn’t know how to explain the _but_.  He isn’t even sure what _but_ is.  So he just sits.  Gazes out of the window, and down to where Elio’s hand is in his.  When did that happen?   Who took whose hand?  Oliver doesn’t know.

“But?”

“But there are other things I want.”  Oliver can’t look at Elio.  The leaves on the tree outside the window flutter in the breeze.  “Things we can’t have together.  I want to get married, and get a house.  I want kids, Elio.  I’m twenty-four.  A lot of my friends already have a kid, and I want that.  I really do.  And I know you probably haven’t thought about those kinds of things yet, and that’s totally normal at seveteen,  but I want you to be able to have those things, too, if you decide you want to.  Which you might.  You said yourself that you don’t know about those things yet.

“And I would lose my family.  My parents are… well, they’re very conservative people.  They’re not exactly Jews of discretion.  Their faith is very important to them.  They keep kosher, they go to synagogue, they observe the Sabbath… and they think I still do, too.  I daren’t tell them that I don’t- they’d be devastated.  I think they’d come to accept it, reluctantly, in the end, but it would take time.  But if I was in a relationship with a man, and they found out, I’m pretty sure I’d lose them for good.  I don’t think they could ever tolerate that.  They would be so ashamed, and,” he looks at Elio, eyes wet, pleading, “I can’t lose my family, Elio.  My mom.  My sister, and my little niece and nephew.  I just can’t.  Not for anything.  I know you’re probably thinking that they must be awful people, if they’d treat me like that, but they’re not.  You’d like them, I think.  They’re wonderful.  They just have different beliefs.  And they’re my family.   They can never, _never_ find out that I’m gay.”

Elio will surely understand the importance of family even if he cannot understand the way Oliver’s parents think.

“You are?  Gay?  You never said."  He strokes Oliver’s hand, soothing.

Oliver rubs his eyes.  “No.  I shouldn’t have said that.  I’m not gay.  I do like girls, too.  Except when I’m with you, and then I can’t imagine desiring anyone else, boy or girl.  It’s complicated, and I’m still working it out.  But whatever it is, my parents can never know.

“So what options are left?  We could be together in secret.  One option is that I could not get married, and in time, when you’re older, maybe we could even be ‘roommates’.  Or something, for a while, at least.  But in time, people would talk, and ask difficult questions.  About why we were both single.  About why neither of us ever moved out and got our own place.  Plus- it’s not something we could do now.  We’d have to wait, and it’s not fair on either of us to put our lives on hold to wait for a few years until we could be together.  I can’t imagine it now, but we have to be realistic, and by the time being together was a real option, one or both of us might not want to.  Might feel obligated because the other one of us had waited. 

“Or the other option would be that I get married anyway, and we keep seeing each other.  Maybe every summer.  But how would that be fair, Elio?  It certainly wouldn’t be fair on my wife.  Nor on you, because you don’t deserve to just be my bit on the side.  And it wouldn’t be fair on me, to make me choose between vacations here with you, or with my wife.  To make me be unfaithful to her.  And maybe kids one day.  You can’t just leave your kids to go and spend 6 weeks on another continent with your lover.

“Those are the only options I have, any they’re both bad.  So if you have any idea, _any at all_ , about how we could make this work, then tell me.  I have thought about it and thought about it and thought about it and come up with nothing.  If you can think of a way to make this work, if there’s an option I haven’t thought of, then tell me.  Please.  Because I have lain awake night after night these past few months thinking about it, and come up with nothing.  _Nothing_.  I just cannot see it.”

Oliver is crying now.  It’s cathartic, finally voicing out loud these thoughts which have haunted him for months.  He sniffs and wipes his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt.

Elio reaches around and pulls him into an embrace.  “I know.  I’ve thought about it too.  I don’t have any bright ideas.  I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?  None of this is your fault.”

“I’m sorry that things are like this.  That’s all.”

“No.  I’m sorry.  I always knew that things were like this.  I knew that we couldn’t ever really be together, and I should have forced you to talk about it back in the summer.  Let’s face it-“ he laughs, brittle and sad- “I was never going to think of a solution.  I wasted my time, months of it, mine and yours trying to think of something, trying to believe that there was a chance we could carry on being something.”

Elio’s head is buried in Oliver’s neck.  “So what now?”

“I have no idea.”  Oliver laughs again.  Hollow.  “This is all new to me.”

“Me too.  I suppose this is really the end, then.  It doesn’t feel as awful as I thought it would.”

“Not now.  But that’ll happen later, I think.”

“Will you still spend the night?  For the last time?”

“Yes.  Of course.  If you don’t think it’ll make things hurt even more.”

“I think… I think it would be worth it.  And I want to…”  Elio’s voice trails off, shy and unsure.

“To what?”

Elio clutches him tight and kisses him, suddenly bold.  “ _Everything_.  I want to do _everything_.  One last time.”

***

They eventually go to bed.  It’s nothing like the night before, now that the fear and desperation are gone.  They know that their time together is short- one night, a handful of hours, a mere few hundred minutes- and yet it feels as though there’s no rush. 

“We can stay up all night.  I can sleep on the plane.”

“Well, firstly, your flight isn’t until late tomorrow evening.  And secondly, no.  I want to go to sleep with you, here, next to me in my bed.  I want you to be the last thing I see before I fall asleep and the first thing I see when I wake up.”

Slow, then.  Tender and sweet and full of more joy than Oliver thinks anyone should be allowed to feel.  Far more than he should be allowed, all things considered.    After everything he’s put Elio through, the way he’s behaved… but some things transcend that, regardless of whether they should.  And this is one.  “I love you,” in between kisses. 

“I love you too.”

There’s no frantic tearing off of clothes, because there’s time now, to savour every button, every slip of fabric over skin. 

Time for smiles, too.  Elio looks at Oliver and smiles widely in between kisses.  And Oliver quickly kisses him again, because his chest aches as he realises that it’s the first time Elio’s really smiled all week, and it’s _beautiful_ but he can’t quite bear to look at it because it hurts too much.  It’s a terrible kiss, because it’s too fierce and too fast and Elio is still smiling, resulting in far more teeth-on-teeth contact than a kiss is supposed to have. 

Elio pulls back and laughs, wiping his mouth.  “I used to think you were good at this.”

“I am good at this.  Just got carried away, that’s all.”

Kissing again, then.  More kisses, better kisses, more smiles, and enough _I love you_ s to make up for all the ones they didn’t say before.  Enough of everything, and then a bit more.

***

They lie side-by-side, looking up at the ceiling, breathing almost-but-not-quite back to normal.  Smiling.  Elio reaches for Oliver’s hand.

“Can I ask you something?”  He doesn’t wait for an answer.  “When did you know?  About me?”

Oliver answers without hesitation.  “When you kissed me.  No- wait, that’s not quite true.  When you kissed me, that was when I realised that I’d known for… for weeks.  I knew _something_ the first time I saw you.  Even now I still don’t know what it was, but there was something.  I knew that you would be important to me.  But knowing all that came later.  When you kissed me, it all fell into place.  Everything made sense.  That was when I realised I was done for.  I was scared, so scared.  And I tried to fight it, but it wouldn’t go away.  And you wouldn’t go away, either.”

“That’s… I didn’t know that.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, I didn’t really know until late.  I didn’t really _know_ when we kissed, or even when we first slept together.  And yet, at the same time- I knew long before I met you.”

“How poetic.”

“I suppose, but that’s not why I said it.  It’s true.  Both are true.  I _knew_ on the afternoon when you ate that peach.”  Elio reaches and touches his own cheek with the back of his hand.  “I’m blushing!  I don’t know why.  I thought we were far beyond that.”  He laughs.  “Anyway- when I did know, that afternoon, I suppose it was like you said it was for you.  I knew that I’d known it for a long time, and it just fell into place.  But it had started a year ago, really.  When I saw your application to come stay here.  We were all sitting downstairs, choosing our guest for the summer- you’ll see how it happens tomorrow- and I wanted it to be you.  I made sure they picked you.  So that’s when it began, and I sort of knew.  Even then.  I didn’t need to meet you to know.”

“Well, thank you.  I’m happy you picked me.”

“I’m happy I picked you too.  Happy that you- Oliver, do you remember, in Rome, when-“

Oliver interrupts with a laugh.  “Yes.  Of course I do.”

“You don’t know what I’m going to say.”

“Doesn’t matter.  I know I remember.”

“In Rome.  When I said I was happy, and you said-“

“I said you were just horny.”

“But you looked at me as though you were a bit awestruck.  And, well.  I was happy.  I meant it.”

“I know.  I _was_ awestruck, by you, by the way you could just say something like that.  So open and vulnerable.  I told you I liked the way you said things, and it’s true.  I knew you were happy, because I was happy too, but I tried to make light of it because I was trying not to think about it.  I couldn’t think about how happy I was without ruining it by thinking about how it was all about to end.  I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise.  I just wanted to be sure that you knew that I really was happy, back then.  And to say that I’m happy right now.”

“Well, this time I won’t try to avoid the truth.  Even though it still scares me.”  Oliver rolls toward Elio, and grabs his shoulder to roll him so that they’re face to face.  Looking at each other.  He doesn’t want there to be any doubt that he means this.  “I’m happy too, and whatever happens next, that won’t change, Elio.  _Oliver_.  I’m so happy here with you.”

The room is quiet as they share smiles and look at one another.  Until Elio grins.  “You know… we could be happy _and_ horny at the same time.”

Oliver rolls him back onto his back and covers him with his body as he moves to kiss his chest.  Words in between kisses.  “I know a cure for horniness.  You want me to show you?”  He kisses lower, and Elio’s _yes_ is scarcely more than a hiss as he breathes in through clenched teeth.

***

Elio’s chest is pressed to Oliver’s back, and his fingers play idly with the hair on Oliver’s chest.  It must be well past midnight now, and Oliver is torn between wanting to fall asleep and wanting to clean up the sticky mess they’ve made.  He’s strongly leaning towards sleep being the answer when Elio asks a question.

“Tell me about her.  What’s she like?”

“You really want to know?”

Oliver feels Elio nods, and hum his assent.

“Where do you want me to start?  You want to know her name?”

“Oh.  Maybe not that.”

“Okay.  She’s…”  Oliver thinks about it.  He owes Elio honesty.   “Well, she’s a little younger than me.  Twenty-two.  She’s pretty.  Small.  Long, dark, straight hair.  Darker than yours.  She laughs a lot.  She’s easy to be around.”

“Easier than me?”

“Yes, I suppose.  You’re prickly.”  Oliver smiles and covers Elio’s hand with his own.  It’s not a criticism, simply a truth which Oliver knows Elio would be quick to acknowledge.

“Do you love her?”

“Yes.  Of course.”

“And she loves you?”

Oliver nods. 

“The same way as you and me?”

“No.”  Oliver is surprised by how quickly the answer reaches his lips.  “It’s definitely different.  If it ended, if she left me, I would be sad, even devastated for a short while- but I’d get over it.  I don’t ever think I’ll get over you.  I can’t imagine not loving you.”

Elio pauses to consider this.  “And she’ll say yes?  When you propose?”

Oliver nods again.  Slowly and thoughtfully.  “We’ve talked about those things.  So, yes.”

Another pause while Elio considers his next question.  “Would I like her?  Would she like me?”

“Yes, you would.  Well enough, at least.  She’d find you intimidating, at first, but she’d like you.”

“I’m glad.”

“She’d think you’re shy- which you are, of course.  And she’d try to get you talking.  She’s good at that.  Making people feel comfortable.  And once you got to know each other, you’d make each other laugh.  Your sense of humour is much more similar to hers than mine is.”

Elio laces his fingers through Oliver’s and holds their hands up to the moonlight, watching them for a moment.  He moves them so they’re palm to palm, fingers measured against each other.  His own, long and slender, against Oliver’s much bigger hand.  He puts their hands gently back on Oliver’s chest before continuing with his questioning.  “Did you meet her at college?”

Oliver nods.

“Did it happen like… like we talked about earlier with you and me?  When you fell for her?”

“No.”  Oliver shakes his head.  “It was nothing like that.  It was much more mundane.  We met through friends and got talking.  We liked each other.  We dated.  We went out for dinner, we saw movies, it was simple.  Normal.”

“Were you really not together last summer?  Honestly?  You can tell me.  I won’t mind.”

“No.  She was studying in Madrid last year, on a student exchange programme.  We tried to do long distance for a while, and I saw her when she came back for Christmas, but it was all just too difficult.  So we ended it in February.  I didn’t see her again until after I’d been to Italy.”

Elio nods slowly, processing this information. 

He sounds reluctant when he asks, “What would you say if I told you that what I want is for you to break off your engagement?  If I said I wasn’t asking for a commitment, or anything like that, but that I wanted you to give this thing between us time, to see if there’s something we can do.  Some way to make it work.  If I asked you to come back for the summer and be with me.”

“Why?  Are you planning on asking me that?”

“I haven’t decided yet.  I may do.” 

“Well, first of all, I’d remind you that I’m not engaged yet. 

“But if you were?  When you are?”

“God, Elio, that’s a tough question.  I…”  Oliver thinks about the answer, and Elio seems content to give him the time he needs.  “I would… I would be honest with you, and tell you that I think the answer would be no.  But I would ask you to give me some time to think about it.  And I would.  Think about it, that is.  I would certainly hold off on proposing, if you thought it might help work things out.  I have thought about that, already.  About waiting, or even breaking up with her for good.”

“Because of me?”

“Because of you.  Yes.  But what would it achieve?  I still wouldn’t be able to be with you.  There are too many barriers to that.  Things we already talked about.  So many things would have to be different in order for us to be together.  My relationship with her is really the least of the obstacles.”

“If you could?  If there weren’t those other barriers, then would you…?”

“What?  Be with you?  Let’s take some of the barriers away.  Say you were exactly you, but older and a woman.  Or maybe I’m the woman, it doesn’t matter.  I can’t be younger, though- you have to be older, because seventeen is too young to be making those sorts of decisions.  Either way- let’s say we’re a heterosexual couple, in our mid-twenties.”  Oliver pauses, before continuing in a whisper.  “Then, yes.  I’d break up with her to be with you.  I hate that it’s true.  But yes.”

“You hate that you’d break up with her, or…?”

“No.  I don’t hate that, not at all.  Relationships end.  Sometimes things don’t work out. I don’t hate that I’d leave someone else to be with you- I hate that those are the things that mean we can’t be together.  Such ridiculous things keeping us apart.  I hate the fact that, if we were those other people, then things would probably never have ended after the summer.  We would have been able to talk about those things, and have something we could call a relationship.”

“So you wish I was a girl?”

“No.  Although you could pull it off, you know.  Grow your hair a bit-“ he turns to face Elio and tugs the curls long around his face- “and nobody would know.  You’d be a very pretty girl.  And it would certainly make life simpler, or at least make it simpler to have what we both want… but no.  I wouldn’t want that.”

“Me neither.  I wouldn’t want anything about us to be different.  I’d change the rest of the world, but not us.”

“Good.”

Oliver closes his eyes.

***

“Oliver?”

“Hmm?”

“You asleep?”

“No.  What is it?”

Elio is lying on his back, turning his Star of David between his fingers.  It now hangs from the chain which was a gift from Oliver.  Every now and again it shines as it catches the moonlight coming through the open shutters.

Silence. 

“What is it, Elio?  What’s wrong?”  Oliver rolls over and pillows his head on his arm so that he can see Elio better.

“I want to ask something, but I don’t want to be the bitter person, like last night.  Or make you mad, because I think you might be mad.  So I’m not sure whether to say it or not.”

“Say it.  Whatever it is.  Nothing is out of bounds tonight.  Be honest with me.  When I leave, I don’t want there to be anything you wish you’d said when you had the chance.”

“Okay.  Did you see this,“ he pulls at the chain, gently, “when you were out looking for engagement rings?  Were you with her?”

“No.  No, Elio.  I was alone.  I saw it one afternoon, after work, when I was walking.  And thinking.  Missing you.  I’ve done a lot of that this past semester.  I wasn’t looking for anything, it just caught my eye.  And I thought of what you said, about the old one breaking, so I went in and bought it.  It felt right.  And I didn’t know if I’d ever get to give it to you, at the time, but that didn’t matter.  It would still have been yours.”

“Oh.  I thought you might have… I don’t know.  Felt guilty while you were looking at rings.  Or something.”

“No.  Elio, look at me.”  Oliver pulls him around so that they’re face-to-face.  “I promise, no.  This had nothing to do with any of that.  I just thought about you a lot.  You’re lucky, really.  That I managed to contain my impulses.  If I’d have bought everything that made me think of you, you’d have spent the whole week unwrapping gifts.”

Elio smiles.  “Like what?”

“Books, mostly.  Enough books to fill a library.  Everything I read, I wanted you to read too so we could talk about it.  Cassettes, of all sorts of music.  Tickets to concerts, to plays, to movies I wanted to see with you.  Clothes, sometimes, that I thought you’d like.  One time,”  he laughs at the memory, “I saw this soft toy.  It was a mouse, but it sort of reminded me of your teddy bear.  I wanted to buy that for you.  I wish I could do all those things for you, and more.”

“What else would you do?  If you could?  If things were different and we could do anything?”

“Okay.  We’d go out on dates, like normal people do.  We’d hold hands in the street, and kiss.  We’d go on vacations together.  Eventually we’d get our own place.  I’d take you to meet my mom, and she’d smile and say how lovely it was to meet you.  She’d send me to the kitchen to make coffee, and while I was gone she’d pull you aside and start getting out albums of my baby photos.  And telling embarrassing stories about my childhood.  When you’d gone home, she’d smile at me and say _oh, Oliver, he seems lovely.  You seem very happy together_.”  Oliver smiles wistfully.  “Maybe sometimes we’d babysit my sister’s kids, and dream about how one day we might have our own.  Maybe we would have our own, one day.”

“That sounds nice.”  Elio yawns, then there’s silence again.  Elio looks at Oliver intently, and runs his fingers around Oliver’s ears.  Along his eyebrows, until eventually Oliver asks, with a laugh, “What are you doing?  Why are you staring at me like that?”

Elio traces the shape of Oliver’s nose with a finger.  “Shush.  I’m busy memorising you.  Just… just let me, okay?”

“Sure.”  Oliver looks back at him with a smile, but it’s not long until Elio’s eyelids start to droop.  “Elio?” he whispers, “I think you need to sleep.”

“Hmm.  Maybe.”  His eyes are still closed.

Oliver brushes the hair back from his face.  “Sleep.  I love you, Elio.  Oliver.”

Elio awakens just enough to respond.  “ _Elio_.  Elio, Elio, Elio.  I love you, too.”

***

Oliver is woken in the morning by Elio kissing his chest.  When he senses Oliver waking, he pauses and mumbles, sleepily, “You want to have lazy morning sex?”

“Always.  Though I’m surprised you want to.  If I remember, you were always too sleepy in the mornings for even the laziest sex.”

“Not fair.  It wasn’t my fault you always wanted to get up so early to work on your book.”

“There’s no book to work on today, though.”

“Good,” says Elio, nodding as he wastes no time in reaching for Oliver’s cock.  Just barely teasing with his fingers, gentle and languid.  Oliver’s head falls back against the pillows and he does his best to hold back a sleepy moan.  Elio kisses him, and Oliver is just awake enough to kiss him back.  Tongues still drowsy, hands lazy, everything exquisite.  Coming in Elio’s mouth and having him do the same to Oliver is undoubtedly the best way to wake up.

Afterwards, Oliver suggests a morning swim for old times’ sake.  He’s not serious, but Elio takes it as a challenge and they find themselves dashing down to the sea. 

Elio knows the path better, and runs ahead leaving Oliver to shout after him.  “Elio!  Wait!  I don’t have any swim trunks.” 

“So swim naked!” shouts Elio, over his shoulder, almost dropping the armful of towels he grabbed on the way out of the house.

When they reach the shore, Elio kicks off his shoes and strips to his underwear, then stands, shivering, while Oliver wonders if there’s some way he can back out of this.

“Come on.  Hurry up.  I’m getting cold here.”  Elio wraps his arms around himself and jogs on the spot. 

“Maybe we should…”

“If you daren’t do it, just say so.  We don’t have to.”  His eyes sparkle, teasing.  “But if you do it, I’ll let you fuck me again when we get back to the house.” Elio moves closer and lowers his voice.  “Or if you prefer, I’ll fuck you.  You can choose.”

Oliver’s eyes widen, and Elio laughs.  “C’mon.  I’ll give you ten seconds to undress, then race you to the water.  One… two…”

Oliver throws his clothes onto the rocks and dashes into the freezing waves.

They’re both shivering uncontrollably when they get back to the house, too cold even to wait for the shower to heat up, so they crawl back into bed to get warm, shivering as they snuggle close to share warmth.   Oliver pulls the blankets up tight to their chins and kisses Elio, appreciating the warmth of his mouth after the cold of the sea.

Oliver makes his choice and Elio makes good on his promise from before.

Just as they’re about to drift back off to sleep Elio asks, drowsily, “Do you think that’s the last time we’ll do all of this?”

“Honestly?  No.  I’m not sure where, or when, and I don’t think it’ll happen soon, but I don’t think that was the last time.  I don’t think you and me are done yet.”

***

“So what happens now?”  They’re awake, and dressed, and should probably go downstairs now to get a late breakfast.  But Elio finally broaches the subject they’ve both been skirting around for the past 24 hours.  Oliver doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t even want to _think_ about it- because he’s sure there’s no satisfactory answer to this problem.  Whatever they come up with will surely be nothing more than making the best of a bad situation.  A situation which, in another time, another place, could have been nothing short of wonderful.   

“Next?”  A sigh.  “You’re not talking about ‘lunch’ are you?”

Elio nudges him playfully.  “No.  I’m not.  Stop deflecting.”

“I don’t know.”  Oliver scrubs his hand through his hair.  Frustrated.  “I don’t see any way for us to be together, but I can’t imagine my life without you in it.  So what options are we left with?”

“Friends, then?  Is that what you’re saying?”

“No.  I- I mean, in some ways I suppose that’s what we’re talking about.  What we talked about earlier.  But, Elio.  People always say that they’re still friends with their exes, but how many truly are?  And besides, honestly?  I think things between us have gone way too deep to go back to that.  What we had- _have_ \- it’s much more than a ‘normal’ relationship.  You know that, don’t you?”

Elio bites his lip and nods.  His eyes are wet with tears.  “Is that what we are now?  Exes?”

“I don’t know.  This is all new to me.  I don’t know if there’s a name for what we are.  Or even a name for what we were before.”

“Maybe we don’t try to give it a name, then.  Maybe it doesn’t need one.”  Elio pulls Oliver close with a hand to the back of his head, and presses their foreheads together, hard.  He’s never sounded more earnest, more raw.  He scrunches up his eyes and tears fall.  “You’re _everything_ to me, you know that?  Not just a lover or a friend.  You’re my father and my son, my brother and- and my husband, and most of all you’re just myself.  _Elio_.  It’s not that I can’t live without you, it’s that I don’t know who I’d be without you.  If I’d be anyone at all.”

Elio’s sobbing as he continues.  “You know I said I might ask you to break up with your girlfriend?”  Oliver nods.  “Well, I’m not going to.  Because we can’t be a-a couple, or boyfriends, or anything like that.  And I want you to have a happy life, and all the things you want.  So you should get married.  Have a baby.  Send me a picture of him.  Or her.  Be happy, and fulfilled, and have a normal life.  But please don’t stop writing to me, or calling me, or loving me, or being a part of my life.  I don’t want to lose you.  Never stop.  Promise me that.”

Oliver’s tears are quiet, but no less heartfelt.  “I promise.  But only if you promise to do the same.  To be happy, and to go out there and get everything you want.  I’ll only be able to do it if I know you are too.”

“Yes.”  Elio sniffles.  Oliver offers the tissue box from by the bed and Elio takes one, blows his nose, and continues crying.

“Elio, just because we’re not having sex, or in a relationship, doesn’t mean we’re no more than friends.  We’ll always be so much more than that.  I don’t know what it is, but I know you’ll always be more than that to me.  I love you.”  Elio falls onto him, limp and sobbing, and buries his face in Oliver’s shoulder.  His tears pool darkly, soaking through the fabric, and Oliver pats his hair, wondering if this will ever feel okay.

***

It’s early evening when Oliver has to leave for the airport, and Samuel offers to drive him to the station.  Elio comes along, and when they reach the station Samuel parks the car in a secluded corner and announces that he’s going to buy cigarettes before taking Oliver and his luggage into the station, and would they mind waiting for just a minute?  He disappears across the road, leaving the two of them alone.

Oliver moves into the back seat, next to Elio, and looks at him.  Elio’s eyes are already wet, and Oliver knows that they’re both going to cry before this goodbye is done.  He strokes Elio’s hair with one hand, and places the other under his chin to move him up into a kiss.  Elio doesn’t hold back, clutching the back of Oliver’s head to draw him closer and pulling at his hair.

It’s a goodbye kiss, a maybe-the-last-time kiss.  Long and lingering and bubbling over with so much love.  Oliver is torn between losing himself in the moment- which would be so easy, because Elio’s mouth is warm and wonderful- and trying to stay in his head, to remember what this feels like and tuck it away safely forever.

But then it’s over.  Elio strokes his face, winter-dry fingers catching on his stubble, because today Oliver is a man who has been too busy to shave.  Too busy savouring his happiness, too busy loving.  Elio tries to laugh, but it’s watery and thin.  “My dad’s loitering over the road.  Pretending to be too busy smoking to come over here.”  He laughs again, more convincingly.  “He’s such a dork sometimes.”

“But he’s the best.”

“Yeah.  I know.”  Elio takes a slow, deep breath.  “We need to go.  You missing your train isn’t going to solve anything.”

Sure enough, Samuel appears by the car shortly after they start unloading Oliver’s bags, and he insists on carrying them as they all walk together to the platform.  Oliver could do it himself, but he’s secretly grateful because right now he’s physically and emotionally wrung out.

It also leaves his hands free to touch Elio’s fingertips to his as they walk. 

As the train appears, Samuel gives him a paternal hug and tells him to come back soon, that he’s always welcome.  Elio grabs him and squeezes him tight in his arms.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The pull back, smiles on their tear-stained faces, and Oliver turns.  Picks up his bags and is about to step onto the train when Elio grabs him again and turns him back around.  A hand to the back of Oliver’s head once again pulls him close, foreheads touching and eyes meeting.  Elio’s eyes are bright with tears and fire, and his voice is low and fierce as he says one last word.  “ _Elio_.”

Oliver closes his eyes and nods.  Opens them again.  “ _Oliver_.  Always.”  He knows he shouldn’t, but he kisses Elio once more.  Close mouthed, and brief enough that anyone who might have seen would probably think that they’d imagined it.  But still important.  A kiss of lovers committing themselves. 

Then he steps back and boards the train.

Samuel puts an arm around Elio’s shoulder as they both stand and watch the train pull away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 coming at the weekend! 
> 
> (I may not meet my self-imposed deadlines, but if I've told you I'm going to do something and then can't do it, I will keep you informed, so if you're interested then make sure you check my tumblr at [natures-cunning-ways](https://natures-cunning-ways.tumblr.com/).  
> 


	4. Every Forked Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once every forked road has done its work, where will life lead them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this is a strange one. This is different in a lot of ways to my usual stuff. I have never written Elio's POV before. Also future tense? First person narrator? Phew. And a lot of lines you'll recognise from the book have worked their way in.  
> And so ends this little "What if...". I am sad, because I kind of want to do MORE of it, but... well. This is it!  
> A big thank you to the people who have been around as this grew from "I'm going to write a little one-shot during an hour's plane flight' to almost 20,000 words. Oops. Raraadsel and Redtulipslove listened to me rant about how I couldn't work out how it was going to end, and helped me to get inspired, and then suddenly it just all made sense. And isitandwonder has been there through me losing a lot of the first bit, right through to telling me that it's okay if the characters do bad things.  
> Thanks SO MUCH also to everyone who commented. You are all so lovely :-)
> 
> I really hope you like this, because... I actually kind of love it. A lot of it, at least.
> 
> (Finally- These Parallel Lives cannot resume yet because a) I need to re-read it to see where it's at and b) I am not going to write ANYTHING now until I submit my tax return. But the deadline for that is the end of the month so hopefully it won't be too long.)

I know what you want to hear.  You’re hoping that Oliver came back.  Called from the airport to say that he simply couldn’t bear to leave me.  Or failing that- that he did what I didn’t, in the end, ask him to do- postponed his engagement and came back to spend the summer with me.  And then… I don’t know what.  But you want me to say that we found a way. 

Things are seldom as simple as that.

 

So.  Perhaps that is where our story ends.  Me, standing on the platform, watching him go.  Because he did leave, again.  Perhaps, just like before, nothing else had changed.  I had not changed.  The world hadn’t changed.

I won’t see Oliver again for many years.  For most of that time, I won’t think about him.  It will be as though he was never there.  I’ll fall in love, maybe get married, have my heart broken.  More than once.  There will be men, women, plenty of sadness, but so much happiness too.  It won’t be a bad life by any stretch of the imagination.

He won’t be a part of it. 

Still- perhaps we meet again, far in the future.  When almost as many more years have passed as I’ve lived right now.  I will seek him out.  We'll talk, but we’ll both think about more.  About the things that might have been. 

Then, maybe even later, twenty years from now, he’ll come back here.  And who knows what happens then?  Something good, I hope.

 

Or perhaps this won't be the end.  Not this time.

Maybe this time, everything has changed.  There are no questions left between us, no doubts or uncertainties. 

No regrets.  I live my life knowing that there was nothing more I should, could have done to keep him.

Perhaps I go to his wedding.  He’s happy, and clearly in love, and I’m happy too because if he is happy then there’s no way I could not be.  And I know that the way he feels about her makes no difference to what he and I have, will always have, together.

Maybe as my guest I’ll take a friend who is, at the time, on the cusp of becoming something more.  Who will soon become my first proper, long-term, grown-up relationship.  One which will last through most of my time at college. 

I’m about to fall in love, though I don’t yet know it.

I meet his wife and she is, as he promised, pretty and funny.  Exactly as he described her.  And as he also promised, she and I like each other.  She loves him, so it follows that we have a lot in common, although she'll never know just how much.  As the years pass I will see them regularly and she and I will become friends.  The two of us will tease him gently, constantly, and he’ll whine and say _you’re both so cruel to me_.  We’ll laugh together, a lot.  It’s good.

So let’s say I go to his wedding.  Perhaps, even further in the future, he comes to mine.  Brings his wife, his two children- who I’ve grown to love because I love him, so how could I not?  One dark, one fair, both beautiful, both full of Oliver.  They wear little blue suits and I dance with them, all silliness, and they shriek with delight.  He smiles at me, happy with my happiness.  I’m hopelessly in love and I think that this will be my forever.

Sometimes I'll still miss him.  Terribly, with a deep, wounding ache.  But maybe in this version of my life it will never be allowed to fester.  Because when I miss him I’ll pick up the phone and talk to him, or arrange to meet him, or sometimes just sit down and write to him.  This time there’s no last letter between us, because I’ll never stop writing, and he’ll never stop writing back- at least, until the changing world renders such things virtually obsolete.  No, in fact- not even then, although our letters will become less frequent in favour of faster, more modern methods.

Most of our letters will be the innocent correspondence of friends keeping in touch, but occasionally other things, feelings, spill out.  Those ones I send to his work address, in an envelope marked _private and confidential_.  I don’t know where he keeps his, but mine are kept in a locked filing cabinet in my office.  Some of them really aren’t suitable for reading at work, but I daren’t leave them lying around the house.

We always were friends first and lovers second- so maybe this reality is one where, through everything life throws at us, the friendship between us will survive.  Flourish, even, and grow into something stronger and bigger as we both grow older and wiser and have the time to know each other in ways that were simply impossible during our too-short Italian summer. 

My dearest friend, and more. 

And lovers?  Well.  Just as we never needed to be bonded by blood to be brothers, nor do we need to sleep together to be lovers.  Living together, sleeping together, being together- none of it matters, because the fact that we don’t do those things changes nothing between us.

Always.

I am deeply glad to have him in my life. 

Perhaps once, just once, after thirteen long years and one too many glasses of wine, we find ourselves tumbling into bed together. 

But wait.  That's a lie- because if it happens, we haven't had too much to drink.  We’re both fully conscious of what we’re doing.  I’m just trying to find an excuse because I don’t want you to judge me.  To judge both of us, married men who should know better, who should be content with the beautiful friendship we have.

We _are_ content with that, truly- but maybe it happens anyway.

Afterwards, I won't be able to remember who started it, who kissed who first, who didn't stop it from happening.

It’s not important anyway.

And it’s still beautiful, and still wonderful.  I had forgotten just how hopelessly I desire him.  You might expect that, after so long, it would be passionate, frantic, desperate.  But it's not.   It's quiet and tender and I think I might drown in my own feelings.  I don’t have the words to explain what those feelings are- and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.  Some things are private.

I am overcome by the feeling that this is the last time.  I can’t explain it, but I feel it deep down, and I’m surprised to find that it doesn’t sadden me.  I’m aware that while this was nice- much more than nice, in fact- it’s for the best if it doesn’t happen again.  I don’t want to do anything to complicate or jeopardise the thing we have together.  Our relationship- _friendship_ , if you want to call it that- gives me a bone-deep contentment, and I will not risk losing it.

Should I feel guilty?  Wait- don’t answer that.  I know the answer already. 

But I don’t feel guilty about what Oliver and I did.  It’s not cheating, because how can you be unfaithful with yourself?  Because that’s still what we are to one another. 

So no- I feel no guilt or shame about that, although I understand that I probably should.  That acknowledgement in itself is all the absolution I need.

I know that you probably don’t agree, and you’re welcome to your own opinion.  It doesn’t alter mine.

(Maybe, just a few weeks later, my wife will tell me- _I’m pregnant_.  I’ll grin widely and spin her around in my arms.  It’s him I’ll call when my son, my tiny son, is born.  Overwhelmed.  Before my parents, before hers.  I’m crying, and it sounds as though he might be too, even while we both smile.)

So, in the spirit of honesty, we weren’t drunk when it happened.  And once?  That was a lie too. 

It was only twice, though.  No more, I promise.

The second time it happens will be different.  Things will be tough for me, at that time.  People will assume that it’s the strain of having a sick parent on another continent whilst raising three young children.  No longer just my son- the second pregnancy unplanned, the twins unexpected.  The sonographer will smile at us, pointing out not one but two white blobs on a black screen.  Tiny, flickering heartbeats.  Our daughters- _the_ _terrible twins_ , loved and wanted, but terribly demanding and so utterly _draining_ nonetheless.

People will be right to assume that those things are causing me stress, but there will be other things, less tangible things, which I don't want to talk about.  Think about.  Don’t want to feel, because some of the _things_ aren’t things at all, more just feelings with no reason behind them, no rationality whatsoever.

I feel as though I’m going to implode. 

It will be Oliver who suggests we meet.  I’ve been putting him off for a long time, lacking the energy to socialise, even with him.  Eventually he’ll name a date.   _I’m staying over in the city after a meeting.  I’ve made reservations for dinner._  I’ll arrive at the appointed time and place, simply because going along with his plan feels easier than not doing so.

Oliver will see me walk through the door of the restaurant and I won't need to say anything.  He’ll see the dark circles under my eyes, register the fact that I haven't shaved in two days, notice the wobbliness in me.  He'll see the moment when I'm about to cry, to crumble, without knowing why.  He'll see my bottom lip tremble before I even know it's happening.  He’ll brush his thumb against it, placing his fingers on my cheek.

 _Hey.  Hey, c'mon._ He will take me by my shoulder, the promise of dinner forgotten. _Let's get you somewhere quieter.  You want to go home?  I can drive you._

I'll shake my head.  No, I don’t know what I do want, but I don't want to go home.  Don’t really want anything, really.   _Somewhere quiet_ will be his hotel room.  Two beds.  _I’m sorry.  I didn’t know where else to go.  You don't have to stay.  I just thought you might want some privacy._

And I do.  Tears fall.  He doesn’t say _I thought you might want to talk,_ because he knows I don’t.  I won’t know what I want, in that moment, but I don’t want to talk about any of it.  I just want to cry and shut everything out.

He cradles me in his arms for what seems like a long time.  Kisses my hair, my ears, my eyelids, the tip of my nose.

Then my mouth. 

I close my eyes and let him coax me into lying back and letting go.  I lose myself in the blue of his eyes, in his whispered words of comfort, in the heat of his body and the things it makes mine feel.  I cry out, both louder and needier than I intend.  Lose myself, and find myself too.

It’s not about sex.  Sex is not a cure for my feelings- or for anything, of course.  And besides, my sex life is not one of my problems- sex, and good sex at that, is readily available at home.  This is about the inexplicable empty tangle inside my head which will not go away.  And the part of myself that’s withering away, getting lost.  He is my short cut back to finding it, to finding myself, and this moment of intimacy is merely a quick fix, because I don’t have the energy to seek the closeness he and I have always found through words.  Nor do we have the time to just be together and soak up the peace that inevitably comes with time spent in each other’s company. 

A quick fix, maybe, but it works all the same.  Things seem clearer, and the noise in my head is finally quiet.

 _I love you,_ he’ll say, afterwards.  We don’t need to say the words often, but sometimes it matters.  And then, when I’m almost asleep in his arms- _You should talk to a doctor, you know._   Hearing it from him is the same as admitting it to myself.  I do know, and I will do as he says, and things will get better.

He is the only part of me that I never lie to.

I’ll wake, the next morning, confused, to starchy white hotel linens.  I roll over and look around the room.  Oliver is sitting at the hotel desk, with a laptop open and a pile of papers next to it. 

“Oliver?”  I try to supress a yawn.  It doesn’t work.  “I didn’t know you wore glasses?”

“Elio!  You’re awake.”  He’ll leave the glasses on the desk and come over to lie on the bed next to me with a fond smile.  “I’m a classics professor in my forties.  Of course I wear glasses.  It’s part of the job description.  How did you not know that?”

I’ll smile at him as I stretch.  “What time is it?”

“Almost noon.  You were dead to the world.”

“I must have slept for…”  I try to do the math but can’t really remember when we came to bed.

Oliver pats my hair.  It must be a disaster.  “Fourteen hours.  Nearly.  I was getting worried about you.  Had to keep coming over here to check you were still breathing.”

“Don’t we have to check out?  Oh, god,” I say, sitting up quickly, “I was supposed to be home last night.  I have to-“  My wife will likely be both sick with worry and consumed with righteous anger.

Oliver interrupts, brushes my unruly morning curls behind my ear with soothing fingers.  “Hey.  Don’t worry.  I called her, and said we’d had too much to drink.  That you couldn’t drive home, and you were staying here since I already had a hotel booked for the night.  And I called the front desk and arranged a late check-out, so there’s no hurry.  Got you a toothbrush and a razor sent up too.  You want to go take a shower?  Or I saved you some breakfast, if you want to eat first?” 

I groan in delight at the thought of a hot shower and a peaceful shave with no babies squalling, no toddler knocking at the door, no wife getting exasperated and telling me to hurry up, no worries about getting to work on time.

I’ll emerge from the bathroom, freshly shaven and pink from the long, hot shower, with a clear head for the first time in weeks.  The ache that was so much a part of me I scarcely noticed it anymore is finally gone.  Oliver and I will go for breakfast- well, lunch, really- before I head home, because _you haven’t eaten since lunch time yesterday, you can’t drive home on an empty stomach_.  He’ll look at me as I eat, and I’ll look back at him, quizzically.  His answering smile will try and fail to hide his concern.  _You need to eat more.  You’ve lost a lot of weight._ I have, and it’s no wonder.  Too busy, too tired, no appetite. 

But things will get better.

Snow is starting to fall, and I shiver as we walk.  Before we part, Oliver will put his hands on my shoulders and look at me intently.  “You remember what I said last night.”  I nod.  “If you need me- to talk, or to go with you to the doctor’s, or just to be around, then call me.  Promise you’ll call me.  Please.”  I will.

The snow thickens, but not enough to make driving too difficult.  I’ll stop on the way home to buy a sled for my son, and the next morning we’ll go out for a walk, with him sitting on the sled and me pulling him along.  My wife will take a photograph when I’m not looking.  Me, in a blue scarf and gloves, smiling.  My son, not quite four, wears a purple snowsuit which is a hand-me-down from a cousin.  We were keeping it for the girls, but the snow has taken us by surprise and he has no other suitable clothes that fit.  He is still small enough that, bundled in the padded suit, his arms and legs stick straight out from his body and he almost topples over when he walks in his too-big, fluff lined boots.  He has a red bobble hat over his dark curls, and clutches the sides of the sled with his mittens on strings.  We look enchanted with the world and with each other.  I get a copy made and send it to Oliver. 

I’ll feel guilty about having left my wife alone with the children for the night.  But when I get home she'll remark on how rested I look, how relaxed.  She'll smile and say _I don’t know what you and Oliver got up to last night, but you should do it more often.  You seem better._ Better than what, I wonder?  We haven’t talked about there being anything I need to be _better_ from.  Of course, that’s part of the problem in itself. 

But enough of that.

Things take time to change, but I cope better. 

***

When it becomes apparent that my father doesn’t have long left, I’ll go to Italy, planning an extended stay. 

He’s in pain, a lot of the time, but otherwise unchanged.

“Elio.  I have to talk to you.  You’re not happy.”

“Of course not.  You’re…”  I trail off, unable to say the words.

“Sick?  Dying.  Yes, we all know that.  But that’s not why you’re unhappy.”

“I’m… I’m fine.  Really.  I’m doing better.”

“That’s still not what I’m talking about.  You were unwell, last year, but now you’re just unhappy.  They’re not the same thing.  Are things still difficult at home?”

I had spoken to my father some time ago, before he fell ill, about my marriage.  The word _divorce_ was mentioned.  It didn’t seem right to burden him with my problems lately when he has so many of his own.

“I’m doing fine.  Really.”

“In that case, let me give you some advice.  Unsolicited and possibly unwanted, but I’ll give it all the same.  Elio.  You need to go out there and get what you really want.  Nobody else will do it for you.  Perhaps now isn’t the time for you to think about it, but that time will come.”

I bite my lip as I think about how to respond.

My father sighs.  “Elio.  I am too tired and in too much pain to pretend that we don’t both know what I- _who_ I’m talking about.”

Oh.

I blurt out a thought which has long haunted me.  “What if he wouldn’t do the same for me?”

“Ah.  That’s an interesting question.  I’d probably ask myself whether that really matters.  If it’s because he doesn’t feel the same, then therein lies a problem.  But it it’s because he’s not brave enough to take that leap, and you have to be the one to do that, then I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing.  Everyone is different.  His strengths are not the same as yours.”

“But- my marriage.  The children.”

“I won’t lie to you, Elio.  People will judge you harshly if you leave them.  Perhaps they will be right to do so.  But don’t lose yourself in a quest to keep your family together.”

“I still love her.”

“I know that.  And there are things you can and should do to try to make your marriage work.  Maybe it will.  I very much hope so.  But at the moment, it’s not, and you shouldn’t settle for living your life unhappily when there is the possibility of more.  I don’t think you and Oliver can go on like this forever.  Talk to him.  Not now, because you’re about to be bereaved and that’s not a good time to have difficult conversations and make difficult decisions.  But when you’re ready.  Some day.  I’m not suggesting you leave your family, Elio.  Of course not.  I’m just saying that you mustn’t rule out the possibility of something else.”

Then he’ll ask me to bring the children over to visit.  “I know the travelling will be difficult, and I wouldn’t ask, but I think it’s time.  Maybe you were waiting until afterwards, but your son is no use to me crying over my grave.  It won’t matter is my funeral happens while he’s on another continent.  Bring them out here, Elio, and do it soon.  Please.”

I fly back home for just a handful of days, just long enough to help my wife pack, and then we all fly to Italy together.  The journey is long and hellish, but my father seems much better with the children around.  They stay for a week, and while they’re there he smiles, and needs less pain relief, and he gets out of bed.  My mother and I hold out hope that he may get better for a while longer. 

But as soon as they leave, he takes a sudden turn for the worse.  Three more days, and he’s gone.

After my father’s death, after his too-long illness which has been too painful for us all, Oliver will come to the funeral and we’ll grieve together.  He will be what I need when he holds me and lets the tears fall as they have for no-one else.  He will stand by me and sob into my shoulder.  It will be the first time I’ve seen him cry in eighteen years.

***

And then.  Perhaps again, we meet, far in the future.  Twenty years after our Italian summer.  But this time, weeks and not years have passed since the last time we saw one another.  Twenty years ago was yesterday, but we have had all the days in between, too.

It just so happens that we are in Italy for this meeting, and there’s a certain pleasing symmetry to the fact that we’re back in the place where it all started. 

It’s the first time he’s been back to Italy since the funeral.  I will talk about my father’s ghost spot, in the garden where the breakfast table once stood.

_Did I have a spot?_

I’ll laugh.  _Of course you did.  You do.  But it’s not a ghost spot.  Just your spot.  You’re not a ghost here._

For so many years I have believed that we were done with this.  But suddenly I will know that it’s time, now, for us.  Finally.  There’s no more waiting.  That night he’ll come to my room while I’m in bed, and say _mind if I join you?_   I’ll flip back the sheets and he’ll lie down.  He’ll tangle our fingers together, and our feet, but that will be all.  We’ll share my bed that night, and it will be chaste but will feel all the more important for that.  We’ll talk softly about things we’ve always known but never needed to say.  I will call him by my own name and he will call me by his, and it will feel as though no time has passed since the last time we did so. 

In the morning we’ll hang my postcard back on the wall from where he took it so long ago.  He’ll flip it over and show me what he wrote on the back, twenty years ago.  _Cor cordium.  Heart of hearts._ I will look at him and nod, and he’ll smile at me, strangely shy.

By this point in the future, his wife will be gone, although I won’t say in what sense that’s true.  Suffice to say it has been a difficult year for Oliver.

And as for mine?  I know what you want me to say.  In order to get the happy ending you want us to have, she needs to be out of the picture.  But not just anything will do.  Perhaps she dies in a terrible accident.  Or, maybe she falls terminally ill, and I nurse her, a devoted husband until the end.  The same result either way- Elio, tragic widower at 37.  _How dreadful.  She was so young.  Those poor, poor motherless children_. 

Or failing that, perhaps she’ll leave me.  _Poor Elio, did you know his wife ran off with another man?  She’d been carrying on an affair for years._  

Yet another option that leaves me playing the role of blameless, good Elio, sole parent to three small children.  _That man is a saint._

You want to believe that I am good, as my father told me I was so many years ago. 

But none of those things will be true.  I’m sorry to disappoint you.  Because shortly after that night Oliver and I spend together in B., I’ll leave my wife and scarcely look back, because although I love her, I love him differently and a part of me, a part I have silenced for twenty years, always knew that this was how things end.  And because my father was wrong about me- I’m not and never was _good_.  That’s not to say I don’t try to be, but I can’t pretend to have been successful.  She’ll say, in one of the blazing rows we have in the weeks that follow, that she always knew there was something I held back.  And she won’t be wrong, but I will be shocked because I never knew it myself.  I had thought, for several years, at least- until the children arrived- that she was everything to me.  Then they, too, were everything, and perhaps that opened my eyes to the fact that you can have more than one person who is everything to you.  Things I had always know but kept buried deep and dark, suddenly fighting to be known, to be free.

In time we’ll come to realise that both of knew, deep down, that things hadn’t been quite right between us for several years.  Would things have been bad enough to end us, had it not been for him?  If we had fought for it, had counselling, given it more time.  If we’d tried to make it work?  There’s no way to know. 

Would that life- fighting for my marriage, raising my children in the family we’d built together- have been better or worse than the one I end up living?

So many hypotheticals, none of them worth considering, really, because what’s happened has happened and that’s that.

I’ve never been a person who much likes myself- but that said, I seldom hate myself either.  On the day I leave my family, I will.  And I will never shake the belief that I am right to feel that way.  My children are still small enough to need a father.  My wife does not deserve this betrayal- betrayed both by myself, with my false promises of _forever_ (although I believed I meant those things, I wanted to mean them, I really did), and by Oliver, who she considered to be a friend.

I did love her.  I make no apologies about marrying her, for the life I have led.

I will be lucky.  She’s not the sort of person to fight over the children or to use them to punish me.  And the children themselves?  Well.  It will take time, and it will never be an ideal situation, but children are resilient and mine will adapt to growing up with two homes.  They already know Oliver and consider his sons to be something like cousins, and although that makes things stranger in some ways, it makes it easier in others. 

I’m getting ahead of myself, though.  Because getting to that point doesn’t happen overnight.  My self-loathing stands in the way.   I do not think that I deserve to be happy with him.

And I am angry with him.  It seems so unfair that I am the one who has had to make all of the difficult decisions.  Oliver, once more absolved of responsibility by his wife’s absence.  Me, left to make the difficult choices and deal with the consequences. 

It takes time for us to get around that.  It takes a lot of work for me to forgive him.  And to forgive myself- never completely, but to the point that I can live with myself.

But things will work out despite everything.  He was worth waiting for, and I don’t regret anything. 

Perhaps, even further in the future, there will be another wedding.  Oliver will be all in white.  Classic, elegant, stunning.  I, on the other hand, have become more flamboyant with age.  Fifteen years working in the arts will do that to you.  The shirt from Miami no longer looks so ridiculous, and some might think that my wedding suit pays homage to the flowery eyesore that I wore the first night I slept with him. 

I don’t know if you’re interested, but perhaps you are, so I’ll mention the fact that Isaac and Mounir come to the wedding.  They give us a cheque for a ridiculous sum of money towards our honeymoon.  They wear matching pink suits and spend most of the day fussing over my mother and my daughters, who love them and call them uncles. 

Oliver’s parents will be absent.  The world has changed around them, but they have still struggled to accept this particular Oliver as their son.  Things are tense.  He still calls them, and his sons visit them regularly, but Oliver himself refuses to see them if they won’t accept me as part of his family.  As a consequence he hasn’t seen them for over a year.  It may not be anything close to the relationship he wants, but the fact that they still speak to him is more than he thought he would get to have, and the situation is one he can live with.  I hate the way it makes him feel, and I sometimes wonder who is more troubled by the situation, him or me. 

Oliver’s sons, young men now, will be his best men.  My still small daughters, the now-not-quite-so-terrible twins, will wear white dresses and scatter flowers.  My son will try and fail to appear more grown up than he is.  I will be proud of them.

More tears will be shed.  Many more tears, that day, but the best sort.

For once every forked road in life has done its work, every way leads me back to him.

***

But let’s remember- this is all speculation.  Back to the here and now. 

I will look back on this winter and wonder what would have happened if I had not seized him when I had the chance.  Was there a better way?  Should I have just let him go?  Would a different, parallel life have been better?

I think, _I hope_ , not.  I am still only seventeen, so I have a lot of living to do- and whatever happens now, I can live my life with no regrets about him.  I will always know that here was nothing more I should, could, have done.

We wait as the train grows smaller and smaller, disappearing into the distance until it’s just a speck of light and then nothing. 

Then we wait a little longer.  My head would be resting on my father’s shoulder if I weren’t so tall.  Eventually he pulls me closer for a moment, then finally lets me go and starts to walk back to the car. 

Right now there’s sorrow, but also the hope, no, the certainty, that Oliver will be a part of _later_. 

Our later begins now. 

My father stops walking.  Turns to me and smiles.  “Come on, Elio.  Time to go home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love to talk about this book/film/story so come find me on tumblr- [natures-cunning-ways](https://natures-cunning-ways.tumblr.com/).  
> 


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